


The Soul Contains Many (red) Rooms

by Signe_chan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AoU Compliant, Endangerment of a child, F/M, Motherhood, character piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/pseuds/Signe_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was nearly 4am when Natasha sorted the mail. The postcard had somehow become folded in a memo about the correct way to complete an acquisition form. The only thing written on the back was her address, scrawled in an achingly familiar hand. The front was a picture of the Taj Mahal with ‘wish you were here’ written above it in cheerful bubble writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soul Contains Many (red) Rooms

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to scribblemoose and Kis for the brilliant beta reading.

1

_Natasha grabbed the letters out of her pigeonhole on the way to her room. They looked like the usual mess of circulars and memos, so she dumped them on her coffee table and ignored them._

_They sat there while she spoke to Clint on the phone, feeling every inch of the distance between herself and the warm welcome of the Barton family home. They sat there while Clint’s children spoke to her, the phone even held for baby Nathaniel to gurgle into, and her heart broke a little more._

_They sat there through the emergency callout and remained untouched when she stumbled back in three hours later, covered with new bruises, and collapsed into bed._

_They sat there as she tossed from side to side, making a mess of her bed sheets. As she turned over the room for bugs. As she checked and reset every weapon. As she rescued the handcuffs from her bedside table and fastened one cuff around her wrist. As she tore it back off in frustration when sleep still wouldn’t come and threw it in the drawer until the next time. As she contemplated the bottle of sedatives and, eventually, put them back in the bathroom unused._

_It was nearly 4am when Natasha sorted the mail. The postcard had somehow become folded in a memo about the correct way to complete an acquisition form. The only thing written on the back was her address, scrawled in an achingly familiar hand. The front was a picture of the Taj Mahal with ‘wish you were here’ written above it in cheerful bubble writing._

_By dawn, Natasha and the postcard were gone._

***

The alarm was about to be smashed again and nobody could blame her. She groaned, stretched out. The movement tugged at the thin sheet covering them but Bruce barely twitched. 

“Bruce,” she said, shoving at his side. He mumbled something incoherent and twitched a little more but didn’t seem to be making any move to turn the thing off.

“I should have stayed with the Avengers,” she grumbled, not meaning it. She glanced over her shoulder but Bruce didn’t seem to have heard. “I bet the Avengers have an A.I. to turn off the alarm for them.”

She climbed out of bed slowly, stretching. It already felt like the kind of day where she was going to have to stretch as far as she could just to fill up her new skin. There were always days like that, whatever skin she was wearing.

Outside the window she could hear Khulna waking up. Someone was cycling past, ringing a bell, and she could hear shouting from next door through the paper thin walls. Sounded like Puja’s no-good husband wasn’t waking up for his alarm either. No doubt Puja would come round to drink endless cups of tea and tell her all about it later. Natasha would have been happy about how quickly the locals had taken them in and made them friends if it didn’t mean they were getting a reputation. She heard ‘the American Doctor and his pretty young wife’ far too often to be comfortable.

She was looking through her closet, trying to pick between the blue and the green Salwar Kameez when she heard feet hit the floor in the next room. There was no pause before the footsteps came towards their door but Ghaada always hit the day running. It was only a second before the door opened and she came tumbling in, a ball of messy pigtails and missing teeth and soft brown skin and six year old enthusiasm.

“Papa,” she cried, throwing herself onto Bruce. Natasha still tensed at this every morning but Bruce started awake without the slightest hint of green. His arms even came up on their own to catch the little whirlwind before she hurt herself. “Papa, it’s morning.”

“So it is,” Bruce said, gathering Ghaada to him and squeezing tight. Natasha picked the blue. As Ghaada chattered away and Bruce finally turned off the alarm, she slipped out to shower.

The house was tiny. It was, of course, all they could afford on the amount Bruce made. Not that Natasha was complaining, far from it. She understood better than most what drove Bruce to take the patients he did. His being that kind of man had a lot to do with why she was here. It didn’t change the fact that the house was really too small for them all. The bathroom could honestly probably be better described as a shower room with ambition. Ghaada’s bedroom was more like a wardrobe. Though, to be fair, when Natasha’d lived in Stark Tower, she’d had a walk in wardrobe that was probably bigger than this entire house.

She showered quickly. She slipped into the Salwar Kameez, threw her scarf over her hair (brunette, now. Less distinctive), and went out to face the day.

Ghaada and Bruce had moved downstairs, though neither of them were dressed to go out. The table was set with sabes, dal and paratha, so clearly they’d been busy. Bruce was much better with the domestic than she was.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling that little shy smile of his. The one that said he still, somehow, couldn’t quite believe his luck. It was such a sweet expression that she couldn’t help but lean over and steal from his lips with hers, as though he could take it inside and keep it safe forever.

“Mama!” Ghaada cried in mock indignation, tugging at Natasha’s arm. “Stop! Chaaya’s parents don’t kiss like that.”

“No,” Bruce said, pulling back to look at Ghaada. “They argue. Do you want mama and I to argue instead?”

“Oh, you would never do something so normal,” Ghaada scoffed. “Can I eat now, at least?”

“Now that we’re all here.”

Ghaada fell on the food like a starved animal, shoveling it into her mouth. Natasha made herself look away. Watching would only lead to criticising and that never went anywhere good. Instead she broke of a piece of paratha and popped it into her mouth.

“Do you have plans today?” Bruce asked. He was picking slowly at his food. Holding some back to see if Ghaada wanted more, most likely. Not that they were short of food but the way Ghaada had been when she came into their lives seemed to haunt the corner of his eye when he looked at her.

“I’m having tea with some neighbourhood ladies,” Natasha invented. It was better to lie than to endure the look of concern Bruce would give her if she told him she wanted to spend the day alone inside again.

“It’s a slums day for me,” Bruce said, meeting her gaze for a second. Natasha nodded. A slums day meant that Bruce would be leaving the area he normally worked, a poor enough area, and venturing into the worst of places. Where the houses fell down in a storm and the people couldn’t afford even the tiny fee he charged. She knew the feelings that seeing those people brought out in Bruce.

She lay her hand on the table for him to take and he did, squeezing her fingers gently. It was a pact between them. She’d be close by if he needed her.

“I’m going to have an exciting day,” Ghaada interrupted, shattering the moment. She began to tell them at length about what she would do, and Natasha mostly tuned her out and focused on finishing breakfast instead. She and Bruce both snuck some of their food onto Ghaada’s plate.

Once the breakfast plates were cleared things moved quickly. Bruce retired to the bedroom to get dressed and Natasha set to getting Ghaada ready for school. There were clothes to put on and hair to brush and a school bag to pack. They all met again at the front door where Bruce kissed Natasha goodbye. 

Natasha and Ghaada stood in the street and waved until Bruce was out of sight, then turned and began the walk to school. Ghaada’s hand was gently tucked into Natasha’s until they met some other children walking the same way and she pulled herself free to go and play with them. Every so often they’d start the day with a fight about when Ghaada would be old enough to make the walk on her own. Natasha hoped the answer was never, but she knew one day she’d have to allow it.

She supposed that was the problem with children. They started by needing you for everything then spent the rest of their lives slowly pulling further and further away from you as you desperately tried to drag them back. Sometimes she looked at Ghaada, so independent already, and ached for the baby she surely had been. Wished she’d been able to hold that Ghaada in her arms.

She left her daughter at the school gate and headed home. Her head was full of the jobs she’d fill her day with until she could go and retrieve her daughter, pull Bruce back to her, and have them all safe and in arm's reach again.

She reached the house and let herself in. Clint Barton was waiting at her kitchen table.

2  
 _  
The postcard had been a good start but it still took Natasha weeks to track Bruce down. Weeks of doubt. After all, hadn’t she made her choice? She’d stayed, he’d gone. She missed Clint, missed Steve, lay awake more than one night asking herself what she was doing. What she thought she was going to do when she found him. She hardly believed in true love conquering all and was love even something she could really feel?_

_A tip in Agra sent her to Bareilly then on to Gaya. She was in a street market, looking for food and information, when a man stepped aside and she saw him._

_Bruce. With his shaggy hair and beaten glasses. With the care lines around his eyes and the baggy linen shirts he favoured. As she stood there, it was as though she remembered every detail of him. The smell of his tea in the morning. The way he smiled when he cooked. The quiet way he kept their peace. The sound of his humming to himself as he worked. The feel of his lips the last time she’d seen him. In a second her heart was on her sleeve and she had no hope of hiding it._

_Then he saw her. There was a moment of panic and she thought he was going to run. Her hand came up involuntarily to reach for him. His half-formed panic settled to gloomy acceptance and he came towards her. As soon as he was in range she grabbed his arm - half to stop him running, half to assure herself he was real._

_“I suppose you’re here to bring me back in.”_

_“I thought you were dead.” She hadn’t meant to say it, had never felt that out of control of herself. “You ran and we found the plane and it’s been nearly a year, Bruce.”_

_“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding more confused than contrite. “I didn’t...I wasn’t in the plane when it went down, obviously. The other guy’s not my biggest fan but he doesn’t hate me enough to kill me. Yet.”_

_“You could have sent a letter.”_

_“I ran, Natasha. I can’t go back. ”_

_“Why did you send the postcard, then?”_

_“A moment of weakness,” Bruce said, ducking his head. “I missed you.”_

_No force in the world could have stopped her stepping forward and hugging him, burying her face in his neck and clutching his shirt. His arms came around her, his embrace gentler than hers, as though he thought his touch was going to break her and scatter her to the winds._

_“I’m sorry,” he said, his words delivered directly to the shell of her ear. Her arms tightened around him. Feeling the solid reality of him. He was sorry, that was enough. It would have to be enough._

_“You know,” he said. “I can’t just let you take me back to the Avengers.”_

_“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not going to try.”_

_That apparently shocked him enough that he pulled back to look her in the eye. She just smiled at him, stayed exactly where she was._

_“I thought…”_

_“I left in the night. Didn’t show anyone the postcard. Nobody knows I’m here.”_

_“Then what are you going to do?”_

_“Stay,” she said, not knowing how much she wanted it until the word was out. “I’m going to stay here with you.”_

_“I thought you made your choice.”_

_“The world was ending at the time. My priorities were different.”_

_“And the next time the world’s ending?”_

_“Bruce…”_

_“Look,” he said, easing her arms from around him. “We clearly need a place to talk. Just...not here. Will you come with me?”_

_“Yes,” Natasha replied. She’d just announced her intention to stay forever. She certainly wasn’t letting him out of her sight any time soon. She reached over and took his hand and allowed him to lead her away through the market._

***

There was a moment of silence in the kitchen as they each waited to see what the other would do. Clint stayed on the chair, Natasha in the doorway. Then, slowly, as though afraid to spook her, Clint raised his arms and opened them. Natasha felt herself falling forwards into his embrace before she even consciously decided to do so. The next thing she knew she was sitting on his lap, gripping him hard enough to hurt which might have worried her if he wasn't holding her back just as tightly.

“Clint,” she whispered into his neck, though she bit back on the desire to add ‘you’re here’ or anything else redundant. 

She wasn’t sure how long they managed to stay there, frozen in the moment, before reality crept back in. When it did rear its ugly head, she very much wished it hadn’t.

Clint was here. That meant that despite their best efforts, someone had tracked them. This wasn’t just a social call, as much as she wished it was. He’d come here with a purpose. He’d been waiting for her which meant he probably knew about Bruce and Ghaada too. Maybe he’d understand. He’d have to take her back, of course, but maybe Bruce and Ghaada…

Maybe if she slipped away she could get a text to Bruce. He might get it in time. He’d be able to run to the school, take Ghaada and go. Keep her safe.

“Hey,” Clint said, letting up on his hold a little. “You’ve gone tense. What’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” Of course there was a possibility that Clint wasn’t here alone. That he had backup. Someone could have already approached Bruce. Taken Ghaada from the school. She did, at least, trust that Clint would have figured Ghaada into his plans.

“Relax,” Clint said. “I’m here alone. You don’t need to run.”

“That’s exactly what you would say,” Natasha said, though she relaxed a little in his arms.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “But not to you. I don’t think I even know how to lie to you, Nat. I mean, not about this kind of thing. Not about something that’d put your family in danger.”

A large part of her wanted to trust him. She really did. Clint was the closest thing she had to a brother. They’d been there for each other through some terrible things and her whole heart wanted to believe him. She’d gotten better at listening to her heart since she disappeared but not enough to entirely dismiss the fear.

“How did you find us?”

“You seriously think I ever lost you, Natasha?”

“But Steve wouldn’t let me...” 

“Steve doesn’t know.” That had to be true, at least. If Steve knew where she was, there was no way he’d leave her alone. He was too used to losing the people he loved; he tended to keep the ones he had left where he could see them. If Clint had been following her, Steve didn’t know.

“But, if you knew where I was…”

“What, you think I’m going to turn you in? Jeez, Nat. You of all people deserve a little happiness. I’m not entirely sure what the hell you see in Bruce but most days I’m not sure what Laura sees in me. What kind of hypocrite would I be to stop you having a family?”

“Then why are you here?” She wanted to believe what he was saying so badly but she knew most of that was because it was Clint. 

“There have been developments,” Clint said, stepping back. The change in his face as he dropped into mission mode was oddly comforting. This wasn’t Clint Barton, with the kids and the farm and the sarcasm, this was Hawkeye. There was nothing relaxed about him now. As she watched him it was strangely easy to follow suit, clearing her mind of all the panic and settling back herself. Becoming the Black Widow again.

After all the time she’d spent trying to lose this particular skin, it still felt like coming home to sink into it.

“What kind of developments?” He wouldn’t come to her with just anything. 

“Personal ones. To you. Natasha, it’s the Red Room.”

“No,” she said, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. No. No, it couldn’t be. Not after so long. The Red Room was gone. A childhood nightmare, unable to hurt her any more. When she’d finally managed to separate herself from that place she’d burnt it to the ground and salted the earth behind her. Literally. There was nothing left.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said, and he was Clint again, holding her elbow and keeping her up. “I’m sorry, Nat. You know I wouldn’t come to you if there was even a chance this was something else.”

“I know,” she said. She let herself lean on him. Let herself just breathe for a second. “I know. But...we took them down.”

“We did,” Clint agreed. He’d been right there beside her as they dismantled it. The rock she’d clung to in those early days at S.H.I.E.L.D.. The brother and the best friend she’d never been able to have. The one person she could always trust.

Of course, thing were more complicated than that. Even then, things had been more complicated than that. But when Clint’s children had called her Auntie Nat it had never felt like a lie. Clint was her brother. The one who knew her best. The one who’d dropped of the grid with her, when she was ready, and gone back there. Made sure they never had the chance to make another thing like her.

Only apparently she hadn’t been thorough enough.

“How?”

“One person, we think. Orlona.”

Natasha must have gasped because Clint moved closer, pulling her into his arms and she knew she shouldn’t be falling apart like this, not even if she trusted Clint when he said he was here alone.

Marta Orlona hadn’t been that much older than Natasha. The perfect candidate. She’d gone right through, aced all her tests. Natasha had been trained by her a few times and she’d always been terrifyingly efficient in everything she did. She had never shown any emotion that she didn’t mean to for as long as Natasha had known her. Natasha had often found herself compared unfavourably with Marta, though there was a compliment in the fact they had to go to the best to find someone they could compare her unfavourably with.

Of course, Marta wouldn't have been in the facility when they burnt it to the ground but they'd not just burnt out a building; they'd taken out the entire command structure. Destroyed anyone who might have any interest in continuing the program.

"She's suffered as I did, why would she bring it back?" Natasha asked. It took a few seconds and Clint's blank stare to make her realise she'd slipped into Russian. She cursed and repeated herself in English. She hadn't slipped into Russian unintentionally since her early teens.

"We don't know," Clint said. “We were following up some rumors in Ukraine when we heard rumbling about this. We haven't engaged yet. We thought if there was even a chance that anyone could talk her around, it'd be you."

"Clint..."

"I know this is asking too much," he said. "If you tell me to, Nat, I'll walk away and we'll clean this up and you never have to know. You're out. You deserve to stay out"

It was in her to tell him to go. In her to walk away from this. But even as she thought it another part of her rebelled. The Red Room was her mess, her past, that one thing that, no matter how fast she ran, she'd never quite manage to escape. It wasn't that she didn't trust Clint to clean it up properly, it was more that she shouldn't ask him.

Besides, whatever Clint said, whatever Bruce wanted to believe of her, she still had three knives and a taser stashed in easy reach of where she currently stood.

"I'm going to need to talk to Bruce before I do anything. I can't just disappear on him with his history, and we have a daughter to think about."

"Of course," Clint said, stepping back a little. "I can go. Come back tomorrow..."

"Yes," she agreed. "In a while but just...just stay for a little bit. Tell me about the kids, Laura, the team. I've missed them. Missed you."

"I've missed you too," Clint said. "I'll definitely stay."

3.  
_  
Bruce's home was a small, dirty room in a boarding house. Completely inconspicuous in every way. Not run down enough that they'd never have had foreigners stay before but off the track enough that foreigners aren't the norm. There was nothing in it but a bag with his clothes._

_"Why did you come?" he asked. He'd followed her into the room but then paused by the closed door. Taken off his glasses, polished them, and set them back on his nose. He was nervous. It was adorable._

_"I already told you..."_

_"I'm just finding it hard to believe."_

_"Which part of it’s hard to believe? That I have emotions or that they're directed at you."_

_"Definitely the latter," he said with a smile. "I've always known you have emotions, Natasha. But you're an Avenger. A beautiful woman at the peak of her health and one of the most important people in the world."_

_"You're an Avenger, too."_

_"No, I'm not," he said. "You once told me that being an Avenger was a dream to you, like something that didn't really happen. It's worse than that for me. It's like...it's like it was a nightmare. I was doing something I knew was important but to do it I had to become the thing I most fear. That just wasn't acceptable."_

_"And you think it wasn't the same for me?"_

_"Natasha..."_

_"I want you. I'm done being an emotionless tool."_

_"You're not emotionless."_

_"Then let me prove it. Let me stay here with you. Let me show us both how many emotions I have."_

_He was wavering. Her mind flickered through a million options for seducing him. She'd seduced a million men before. She wasn't trying to bed Bruce, though. She was trying to claim a piece of his heart._

_"Natasha..."_

_"I know it's going to be difficult," she said, stepping forward into his space. He let her. Let her rest her hand on his collar. Let her lean into him so she was flush against him. "I know there's no fairy tale ending here but surely there's an ending we can get to where we aren't worlds away from each other?"_

_"I just don't..."_

_"I want to try. I want to try being here with you."_

_"What if you don't like it?"_

_"Then I leave you. Or you leave me. I'm not asking for a marriage, Bruce. I just want to see, for now."_

_"I just..."_

_"Please," she said. Apparently something in the tone of the word worked. He lifted his hand to lay on her waist, then tipped his head forward so their foreheads were touching. She closed her eyes, breathed him in. "I'll go if you tell me to but..."_

_"You don't need to go," he said, resignation colouring his tone. "In fact, please don't go. I just...one of us is going to end up with a broken heart here, Natasha."_

_"Maybe," she said. "But if there's anyone who stands a chance of making this work, I think it's me and you."_

_Then she leant in and kissed him._

***

It was clear that Bruce knew the minute he stepped into the house that something had gone wrong. He took one look at her, sitting there in jeans and a t-shirt instead of Salwar Kameez, and his eyes went to check the exit routes.

"Relax," she said, taking a sip of her tea. "I...it's been an interesting day."

"Looks like it," he said. Above them, Ghaada was playing in her room. They could hear her exclamations through the thin ceiling. This seemed to calm Bruce. He knew she'd never put Ghaada in danger. "You want to share?"

"I had a visitor," she said, picking up the pot and pouring some tea for him. "Someone from my past I didn’t expect to ever see again."

"An Avenger?"

"Clint," she said with a nod. "I'm still not sure how he tracked us. He said he never lost me but I'm pretty sure I'm better at covering my tracks than he is."

"Does it really matter? He found you. Why?"

"That's the bit you're not going to like," she said. There was already panic in his eyes, the last thing she wanted was to make it worse. "He wants me to come back in for one last mission."

"What, they suddenly need you?" he asked, his tone a little more caustic than he probably intended. "Seems to me they've been doing great so far without you."

"It's not that they need me so much as that it's personal."

"Personal?"

"It's the Red Room."

She saw the second he understood what they were dealing with. His hand relaxed and he sat back, eyes unfocusing. She'd told him about the Red Room, of course. In dark nights as they lay together. She'd been raised there, wore its scars right down in her soul. Of course he knew about it. What she'd done for it. What it'd done to her.

"I thought..."

"There's a former operative. Clint says she's trying to resurrect the Red Room. Trying to rebuild it on her own with new girls. I can't let her, Bruce."

"No, of course you can’t," he agreed, reaching across the table to take her hand. "This is beyond anything I could ask you to walk away from, Natasha. I understand that."

"Thank you," she said, her hand clenching around his. There was a second of silence before he stood, coming around the rickety kitchen table and folding her into his arms. She let out a choked sob and wrapped her own arms around him, burying her face in his stomach. He held her, brushed his hand over her hair. She let him.

"I don't..." she said, pausing when she realised she didn’t know how to finish that sentence. She didn't want to go, of course not. She didn't want to have to face down the Red Room. She didn't want to leave. Wanted him to come, maybe? But there was Ghaada, and Natasha would rather stab herself now than take her daughter within one hundred miles of the Red Room.

"I know," he said. She didn't know which intention he'd read into the words but that was alright. He knew something, some of what she'd meant to say to him. "When do you go?"

"Soon," she said. "Clint's waiting down the street. He hasn't told the others where we are. You should be safe."

"I'll wait," he promised. "And if I can't wait here, you'll know where to find me."

"I will." There was a safe house. One they'd never been to, bought through a paper trail that could never be linked to them. "I will come back."

"I know," he said, squeezing her a little tighter. "I never thought overwise. Are you going to say goodbye to Ghaada?"

"No," she said, stepping back. "I'm not sure what I'd say. I want to, I don't know, disappear into the mist and come back again. She'll be fine as long as she has you."

"She loves you, you know."

"I know," Natasha said, though she was afraid there wasn't much heart in it. "And I love her, but I need to go and this way hurts less."

"It's your choice," he said, reaching up to cup her face. "Is this it, then?"

"Yes," she said. There was a go bag at the bottom of the stairs. "Until I get back."

"Until you get back."

And he leant in to kiss her goodbye.

4.  
_  
Natasha wiped the sweat from her brow. There were three bodies lying around her. Super soldiers. It wass always super soldiers._

_Over the comms she could hear Steve reasoning with the villain of the week. Or trying to._

_They were counting on her to pull the data on what, exactly, this idiot had been up to down here while they distracted him with the big show upstairs. They could take him out but there was a risk he’d ordered someone to kill the computer system if that happened before they got to it. A risk they couldn’t take. She had a drive in her pocket with a Stark AI. She didn't have to do a thing. It scanned the system for her and began downloading all the relevant files. Like magic._

_Magic was something she was kind of done with, too. Though it was better now they had Wanda fighting with them._

_There was an explosion overhead. War Machine, probably. He was more reliable than Tony but he still enjoyed showing off a little too much._

_The Stark Drive beeped. She extracted it and slipped it back into her pocket. She just had to get herself out._

_The men were still passed out. At least she knew these days whose orders she was following when she punched someone. Her own. Maybe Steve's, but mostly her own. She got to pick the missions with him and she got to make the calls._

_She liked it, mostly. It wasn't a bad way to lead a life._

_Outside the others were still lighting up the sky. She sent the all clear and watched as Steve stepped in for the disabling blow. They'd take this guy in, find out what he'd been doing to himself and others. Save innocents._

_It wasn't a bad life._

***

Avengers HQ was more or less how she remembered it. She wasn't sure if that was a criticism or just an observation but it was honestly what she thought as she walked in with Clint. He'd thought to bring a suit for her so she was officially the Black Widow again. She wasn't sure what she thought of that, either.

"You're back!"

She looked up to find Wanda watching her, a smile on her face. Natasha hadn't thought of them as close but the other woman looked so glad to see her that she was immediately forced to revise that.

"It's only for one mission," Clint said, which immediately dimmed Wanda's smile. Natasha pinched him lightly on the arm. There was no point rubbing their faces in the way she'd rejected them and if someone wanted to be happy to see her then she was willing to let them.

"We're glad to have you, anyway," Steve said. Natasha turned to see him coming up behind them. She hadn’t even realised he was near and she really hadn't missed all the dramatic entrances around here. Sometimes it almost seemed that Tony had built the place with dramatic entrances in mind.

"I am glad to be back," she said with a smile. "Clint told me I was needed."

"Yes," Steve said, coming over. "It didn't seem right to go after this without you."

"It's important to have vengeance," Wanda spoke with the voice of experience.

"It's not so much about vengeance as about making sure what happened to me can never happen to anyone else," Natasha said. She'd had her vengeance. Now there was no hatred in her gut, just a bone deep fear. 

"Either way," Steve said, turning to the planning room. "It's good to see you again, wherever you've been."

"It's good to see you too," Natasha said. It wasn't as though she could blame him for trying.

It was good. This place had been home. Not a happy home for her but, still, home. There were friends here and she was glad to see them again. Hopefully, before she went she'd have a chance to catch up with them all but, at the same time, she'd rather be back with Bruce and Ghaada.

It felt a little ridiculous. It had only been a few hours but she was already missing them.

"Let's get started," Steve said, thumbing on the computer as he moved to the head of the planning room table. "I won't keep you longer than I need to."

5.  
_  
Natasha's hand was bleeding. The knuckles were split. There was blood on the wall and on the floor and on her face where she tried to wipe away the tears. She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her legs, looking at herself in the mirror._

_She didn't break the mirror. She'd wanted to, but her hand had flown in another direction. She'd meant to smash it when she hit out. Meant to feel the glass shatter, feel the shards of it bite into her skin. Watch how it fractured her image. She'd wanted the Natasha in the mirror to be as broken as the one outside the mirror._

_Now they were just both a mess. Red puffy eyes, blood, tears still coming. It was too much. So much past too much._

_She stood up. Her skirt was white so she knew better than to try to wipe her hand on it. She'd be in a whole world of trouble if she got her clothing dirty in such an obvious way. Instead she wiped her hand on the wall. That was already a mess. It ached a little as she did it but she bit her lip. It wouldn't do to cry. She was already in enough trouble._

_They would be back any moment. They would be back and they would expect her to be perfect. She let her body fall into first position. Then second. Then third. It was easy, this part. Toes pointed, head held high, neck long. A dancer was like an assassin, had to be perfect at every turn. A great way to train the body and mind. She had to be perfect._

_She stumbled a little, her footwork sloppy. She hated this. Hated it, hated it, hated it._

_She turned to hit the wall again but stopped. There was someone in the doorway. Someone with a pinched face looking unhappily at her. She dropped her fist, then dropped her body, curling up into a ball._

_"I take it that you haven't perfected your routine yet," the ballet mistress said. Her voice was always so cold that Natasha thought she might freeze from it._

_"No," she mumbled into her knees._

_"You will stand," the woman snapped. "Stand and looked at me when you talk."_

_Natasha did, reluctantly coming to her feet. The woman circled her, looking her over for weakness. She found many of them, obviously, as she brought the riding crop she carried down across Natasha's arm. Natasha had to bite her lip not to cry out._

_"You're sloppy," the ballet mistress said. "Sloppy and self-obsessed. A weak little girl. Is that what you want to be?"_

_"No." She wanted to be strong. she wanted to be strong enough that she could run away from here and make it so that they'd never find her._

_"Just remember what we're doing for you. Remember that many little girls like you without a family would kill for this chance."_

_"Yes, mistress," Natasha said, focusing on her toes. Her stupid toes that were never crisp enough. Never right._

_"Now, you will do this again. You will do it until you can do it perfectly every time. Until your toes bleed, if you must. Then you will clean your mess and go and tell the overseer what you have done."_

_"Oh no, please," Natasha gasped, eyes wide. "Please, not that. She'll put me in the box."_

_"If she chooses to lock you away then she chooses to lock you away," the ballet mistress said with a careless shrug. "It's no concern of mine, child. Now do as you're told or things will only be worse for you."_

_Natasha shuffled into first position as quickly as she could. She took a deep breath. She couldn't go back in the box. Not after the failure of last week. She'd only been back out for a few days, limbs protesting and stomach aching. She'd been stupid enough to take a bow that fractured her leg. Worse, she'd gone down with it. Shown weakness._

_She wouldn't do that now. She could do these movements in her sleep. She would not let a fractured leg stop her._

_She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began. She could get through this. Would live through this. After all, she was going to be eight tomorrow. She did not want to spend her eighth birthday in the box._

***

The house seemed normal. But, then, they always did. A pleasant Victorian building in London. A townhouse. Painted nicely. The neighbours had said a woman lived there with two little girls. A blonde and a redhead. They’d never seen the father but that wasn't much of a sin these days and she must have money to own the entire house herself.

Surveillance had seen Marta come in and out with the children. The children were small for their age, that much was obvious. Both orphans, stolen from orphanages. The blonde was ten and the redhead only eight. They walked with a strange kind of focus, like they were afraid of setting a foot wrong.

The Avengers operatives had had the house under surveilance for a week. The blinds and curtains were often drawn, though sometimes a girl would open them and stare into the street. They sometimes had marks on their arms when they did, though when Marta dragged them out, they wore long sleeves. She wouldn’t be so sloppy as to let the world see her work.

Steve had been in favour of sending the whole team in. Marta was, after all, a product of the Red Room just like Natasha. Better, maybe. And who knew how far the kids had come. They'd tried to work out when she'd taken them but it was difficult. She was probably not the person who'd taken them from their group homes: there were other children missing who fit the same pattern. Boys, too. No, she'd bought these girls from somewhere but there was the chance she'd had them for years.

Natasha knew what years could do.

Marta also clearly still had means and contacts. They saw people come and go from the house. Contractors for assassins and thugs of all kinds. Whatever she was doing, she was still killing on the side.

With all that, Natasha knew going in hard would be a bad plan. She knew that as a child, she'd been valuable to the Red Room, just as these children were valuable to Marta. That didn’t mean that Marta wouldn’t sacrifice the children before risking them falling into enemy hands. She couldn't risk it. Wouldn’t have the blood of a child on her hands when she went back to her family. Which left her going in alone. They all agreed it must be her. After some thought, she'd chosen the most direct route.

She walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

There was so much surveillance on the building that if Marta fled, they'd see her. Natasha knew Clint was near, up high with his bow. They'd get her one way or another.

Marta opened the door looking like a housewife out of the 1950s. Her hair was neat, her outfit cut perfectly. She even wore a string of pearls around her neck. It was all calculated to project innocence and Natasha wasn't buying it.

"Oh, hello!" Marta exclaimed, like Natasha was a long-expected old friend. "Please come in."

Natasha nodded and climbed the last step. The place looked like any of the scores of places she'd grown up in. Too perfect to be real. Too manicured for a real person to live there. She was suddenly homesick for thin walls and the sound of her daughter playing above her.

"Marta," Natasha said, following her down the hall into what turned out to be a bright kitchen.

"I did wonder who'd been watching us," Marta interrupted, smiling calmly. There was tea set out and she sat down at the table. There were biscuits, too. Natasha sat across from her. She wondered if Marta had known she'd come today or if this had all been in place for some time.

"I heard some things," Natasha said. "Rumours. About what you were doing. I heard there's a new Red Room."

"Oh, there's always a Red Room," Marta said, smiling fondly. "I mean, it lives in our hearts, yes? There's always a Red Room."

"Are you building one here?"

"Oh, of course," Marta said, mouth splitting into a real grin. "You know how it is. You get older, you think about the next generation. It gets to that time in a woman's life when they start thinking about children. You’d know about that, Natasha?"

"I do," Natasha said, her mind jumping to Ghaada, playing in the mud behind their house. Ghaada laughing. Ghaada jumping on Bruce in the morning.

"I was just going to be a mother," Marta said, turning the ring on her finger. A nervous tick, maybe? She hadn't had any of these when Natasha had last seen her but that had been a lifetime ago. "I really was, Natasha. I’m not sure I’d have known how to raise a daughter - but I suppose we all went children in our own image?"

"So you decided to make monsters?"

"I decided I needed a daughter who's strong. A daughter who knows no fear. A true child of the Red Room to learn from me."

Natasha paused a second. Child. Marta had said child, not children. Natasha's heart leapt to her throat. She couldn’t be too late, could she?

She, turned. The red-headed child was in the doorway. She was covered with blood and her face was carefully neutral. She looked as though she'd been fighting. She would be covered in bruises in only a few hours, Natasha knew the signs. Some of the blood was hers, most of it wasn't.

"Ah, this is my daughter, Amily. Say hello, Amily."

"Hello," the girl said. For a second she looked uncertain, glanced between Natasha and Marta, but then Marta was beckoning and she went to her. Went to the woman who was going to destroy her.

Natasha knew enough about the Red Room that she didn't need to go look for the other girl. They taught you to kill and when you killed, you did it well. The body wouldn't be cold but the blonde would be past help.

"This is what you want?" Natasha asked, her eyes on Amily. "Another generation of murderers?"

"Of course," Marta said with a smile. "To leave something behind in this world that is mine. Isn’t that all we all want?"

"There are other ways."

"I'm afraid not," Marta said. Between one second and the next she had a knife, the blade pressed into Amily's neck. The little girl didn't respond. "I'm afraid it's time for us to leave. I don't want to start again, Natasha, but one wrong move and I will. There are other candidates out there. Now, sit very still and I won't kill her. You can't stop me. After all, we all know I was always better than you."

Natasha's eyes met Amily's. For a second there was fear there. She'd probably thought herself chosen as she'd felt the blonde girl's blood on her hands. Thought she'd escaped the worst of it. That was the thing with the Red Room, there was no escape.

Natasha didn't move as Marta backed away. Waited until they were out of the room before she got to her feet and went to the window. A car was speeding away, an arrow just missed its tire as it went which told her Clint was alive, at least. Which was good, as several other agents were lying dead in the street. Some of them theirs, some of them not. Marta had definitely known they were coming.

Natasha cursed, punched the wall. She should have listened to Steve. Should have gone in fast and hard. They would, next time. And there would be a next time. This wasn't over.

She turned and went up the stairs, footsteps heavy. There was a body to find.

6\.   
_  
There was blood on her hand. Blood that wasn’t hers. It was strange, she'd never thought before about how much blood a body could hold. She'd seen people die before but there was a difference between seeing it and standing there with someone else's blood spurting out of them and onto you._

_It wasn't a difficult kill. Not for her first. She'd known this kill was coming. There were rules of the Red Room. One of them was that when you bleed, you're ready to make someone else bleed. A rite of passage._

_When Natasha had noticed the spotting in her panties, she'd wadded them up and hidden them. She lined them with toilet roll and tried to hide it but there was no hiding. She'd been doing ballet in a white leotard and her toilet paper hadn't been up to the task. There had been red. Guilt. As soon as the ballet mistress had seen it she'd smiled. Natasha didn't think she'd ever seen the woman smile before, hoped she never would again._

_She'd been sent for by the overseer. An old woman who was stern and contemptuous. She'd beaten Natasha first for trying to hide it (the paper in her panties enough to damn her) then given her something to put down there and sent her away, to be summoned back later._

_The man was looking at her as his life ran out. His mouth was moving though she'd cut right through his throat so there were no more words for him. There would never be any more words for him. For a second, she almost wanted to reach out and touch his hair, assure him it was over now. She didn't._

_The overseer was watching with a smile on her face. The smile of a vulture who saw carrion. Natasha tried not to look at her. Looked at the dying man instead. At least he couldn't hurt her any more._

_She didn't feel anything._

***

It took three days for the Avengers network to track Marta. She'd ended up in a warehouse outside Berlin. Natasha didn't protest them going in hard and fast this time. She was under no illusion about the validity of Marta's threat.

She went in with them, of course. Gun drawn and bite charged. She stuck to the lower levels, focused on speed. Clint stayed at her side the entire time, quietly watching her back as she hunted.

Finding Amily was too easy, in the end. The guards Marta had hired turned out to not be willing to lay down their lives for a child they didn't know. The first one she seriously threatened caved, crying about having a daughter of his own and wouldn’t she stop choking him, then showing her into the bowels of the building. To a room.

Amily was chained to the bed by one wrist, just like they all had been. To stop them running away or getting ideas in the night. To stop them hurting themselves or others. Natasha had still tried to kill a girl in the night once but she hadn't succeeded.

The room was bare other than the bed. No toys, no games, none of the trappings Natasha had come to associate with having a little girl around. Amily sat in her night dress. She looked afraid for a second when she saw who it was but then relaxed. Natasha gestured for Clint to stay outside.

She approached the bed slowly, raising her hand to show she had no weapons. As soon as she moved into striking range, Amily pulled a knife and sprang forward. Good, but not quite fast enough. Natasha caught her wrist. Squeezed. Amily let out a little gasp of pain as she dropped the knife. No doubt there would be more knives but Natasha was ready for that.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she said, keeping a firm pressure on the girl’s wrist. "But I won't let you hurt me either."

"Let me go," Amily said, tugging at her arm. "Where's Marta?"

"I don't know," Natasha said. She hesitated a second then used the words she'd been taught in the Red Room. The ones that meant stand down. Amily sagged. "There," Natasha said, releasing her grip. "Better?"

There was a razor blade in a second. Natasha managed to knock it away but not before Amily drew blood.

"I won't let you take me," Amily said, tugging at her recaptured wrist. "I won't."

"I don't want to hurt you," Natasha repeated, hoping to make it stick this time. "You don't know me, I know, and you’re scared of what Marta will do when she finds I've been here. But I'm like you. Like Marta."

"You're nothing like me."

"I want to help you."

"If you wanted to help me, you'd fetch Marta."

"Marta can't help you. She believes that what the Red Room made her can only mean one thing. I want to show you that she's wrong."

"There's a good way to be a killer?" the girl asked. She was far too astute for an eight year old but, then, hadn't Natasha grown up just as fast? Hadn't she been asking the same questions at that age?

"Not a killer, no, but don't let Marta convince you that's all you are. You can disarm without killing. You can use your training to help. Let me show you."

"I want Marta," the girl insisted, but she didn't sound quite so sure now. "I shouldn't talk to you."

"I can't get Marta," Natasha said, raising her free hand to gently touch the girl's face. "But I can help you. Please."

There was a moment of indecision, then Amily shook herself free of Natasha's grip and retrieved two more knives, laying them down on the bed in front of her. Natasha gathered them up, stashed them. She might need them yet.

"When Marta finds out, she's gonna be mad," Amily said, offering the wrist with the cuff. Natasha picked the lock quickly, letting it fall away. "She says she's better than you. What if she comes for us?"

"I don't think she's better than me at all," Natasha said. "Besides, even if she is, there's something she hasn't counted on. I don't work alone."

She reached for Amily's hand then, when the little girl took it, led her out into the corridor to meet Clint.

7.  
_  
The orphanage was depressing, though not intentionally. Someone had painted murals on the walls and the place was kept clean. It was depressing in that there were far too many children in it and not enough money. Natasha would hazard a guess that they didn't see many donations around here._

_Bruce was holding her hand. He looked somewhere between excited and terrified._

_"Calm down," she said. "We're going to be alright."_

_"Yes," he agreed, eyes darting to her. "I just..."_

_He was just afraid. Afraid of a million things. Natasha knew what the outcome would be, though. There was no way she was going to say no to Bruce when he asked for so little and gave her so much._

_He'd come home last night full of words to tell her about this child. A little girl, found in a squat with the bodies of her dead parents. She'd been watching over them, waiting for them to wake up. They were long gone from this world but she wasn't to know that. She'd cried when Bruce had taken her away. She was so malnourished it had been nothing to pick her up and carry her._

_He loved the child already, that much was clear. There was something of a saviour in Bruce, though he didn't like to admit it. Natasha found it charming._

_The director of the orphanage met them. A skinny woman who looked like she had too many troubles, though she had a smile and a hug for any child they met. She led them through to a back room and there, on a freshly made bed, lay Ghaada._

_She was thin, so thin. Not the kind of thin that came from one period of starvation, either, but that which came from many years of systematic deprivation. They were in slums. Not even slums in a city but those in a small town in a province. Somewhere unfashionable where nobody would look until it was too late. She was so small and she needed so much._

_When Ghaada saw Bruce she smiled like the world had all come right. The fear drained out of him, he left Natasha and went to kneel by the child. Brushing back her hair and promising her things he didn't know he could deliver on because he couldn't help himself._

_The director watched them with a pleased smile, as did Natasha. Ghaada would need a lot of care. They could give it. They had so much to give._

_It looked very much like she was about to become a mother._

***

Amily had taken to following Natasha around base like a puppy. At first Natasha'd found it a little disconcerting. The child was a Red Room girl, after all. She could have been after all kinds of information but she never made any move to use the computers and was understanding when Natasha made her wait outside because they were discussing something sensitive.

Instead, she seemed to want companionship. Touch. She asked about the Red Room and Natasha told her. It was strange to have someone to talk to about it. She'd been so used to hiding it all inside so nobody would know what a monster she was.

It was also strange to have someone be so tactile. It wasn't th\t Bruce and Ghaada didn't touch her. Bruce was wonderful but Ghaada had never been a hugger when it came to Natasha. She tended to keep her affection to herself.

Amily seemed to want to hug all the time. Natasha would have expected that prolonged exposure to the Red Room would make a child less affectionate but Amily would seek Natasha out just to hold her hand or lean against her or demand a hug, seeming surprised every time Natasha obliged her.

Maybe that was why. Maybe she'd just gone so long without basic affection. Maybe Natasha would have been the same if someone had saved her at this age.

The first two nights, Amily hadn't slept at all. The third night, they'd reluctantly cuffed her to her bed and she'd slept like the dead. The fourth night Steve had objected and she'd ended up snuggled in next to Natasha. 

Natasha hadn't slept. Not with a tiny assassin tucked against her side. Amily did, though, and that was enough to let Natasha sleep the night after.

Marta hadn't been in the warehouse, though all signs were that she had been there and intended to return. There'd been no trace of her since they took Amily. No sign at all and that was disturbing in itself.

Natasha tried not to think about it too much. Tried instead to focus on giving Amily a slice of normal. She let her train. It seemed to upset her not to train and Natasha knew the consequences she'd probably faced for slacking in the past. But after she trained she would do little girl things. They watched movies just because they were fun. She taught Amily to bake cookies, then laughed when she burnt her tongue trying to eat them straight out of the oven. She taught her to braid her hair.

She taught her a little of what it was to be human.

Right up until one of the assistants came and told her Bruce was there.

Bruce, not Bruce and a child.

She almost forgot Amily in her rush to get to the foyer. The other Avengers were there before her, standing around him. 

She shoved Steve aside and grabbed Bruce's arm.

He looked exhausted, worn down. She wanted to hold him. Wanted to take some of that away. But there were more pressing matters.

"Where's Ghaada?"

"She was taken," Bruce said, voice tight. "From the school. In broad daylight. She was taken. I told them not to let her go with anyone but me but..."

"Ghaada?" Steve asked. Natasha turned to look at him, her eyes immediately drawn to Amily who was standing just behind him.

"Our daughter," she said, taking Bruce's hand in hers. For a second Steve looked almost shocked, but then he nodded as though that all made perfect sense and his game face settled back in. 

"Alright," he said. "Did they say anything about the person who took her?"

"Just that she was a white woman. Blonde. But...there are only so many people it could be."

"Marta," Natasha said, catching the way Amily cringed at the name. "It has to be. But how would she..." She stopped herself before she could finish the sentence. If Clint could find them, Marta could find them. Natasha was the most high profile child of the Red Room by far, of course Marta would have tracked her. She was a fool. A fool and now Ghaada was paying. She had no illusion that Marta would be kind. 

"We'll find her. Do you have a picture?”

"Yes," Bruce said, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and extracted the battered photo he kept in there. It was old but Natasha didn't like having a paper trail of them. It was a Polaroid, snapped as she held Ghaada in her arms. They were both smiling at something left of the camera. They looked happy.

"That's your daughter?" Amily interrupted, reaching up to touch the picture.

"Yes," Natasha said.

"She's pretty," Amily said. "Do you love her?"

"A lot."

8.  
_  
She is four. Probably. There is a knife in her hand. Not a butter knife, a knife meant for killing. She clutches it in her fist and stares at it, the brightness of the blade. She can't remember why she has it or what she was meant to do with it. She does remember that even then, she knew to be afraid of it. It probably wasn't from the scolding of a loving mother that her fear came either._

_The knife is covered in blood._

_This is her earliest memory._

***

The message arrived at 4am. There wass the beeping of an alarm that has all three of them tumbling out of bed. Bruce on one side, reaching for his glasses, Natasha and Amily at the other, searching for weapons. Natasha calmed herself in a second, longer than it took Amily who doesn't stop until there's a knife in her hand, but less time than it would have taken a month ago. This life was getting to her.

Bruce was the first to the screen mounted in the wall. He turned off the alert and read the order to go to the meeting room. They only stoped long enough to make sure they're presentable before they went.

The others were all in pajamas too, or various states of undress. In Clint's case, his boxers having been apparently deemed enough for this. Steve was the only one still dressed. He was clearly the one who took the message.

"There's been a communication," he said, throwing it up on the big screen. A short e-mail. A set of encrypted coordinates and a demand to exchange Amily for Ghaada. "They hacked into the system and left it. The Vision's in the net trying to find the source but they did send us coordinates.”

"Encrypted so they don't mean shit."

"I can read them," Natasha and Amily said in unison. Amily looked up at her and grinned a sheepish grin and Natasha felt her heart break a little.

"Alright," Steve said. "Get on it. We'll set a trap."

"Are we sure that's the best idea?" Sam asked, his ‘sensible man’ look not quite as effective in what were clearly Captain America pajamas. "I mean, there is a kid involved here."

"The best thing would be to send me back," Amily said, stepping forward.

"Not an option," Steve said.

"But there's another little girl, right?" Amily asked. "Natasha's daughter. She's important. I don't want to go back but I've lived with Marta before. I’m not scared."

"Hey," Natasha said, kneeling quickly and wrapping an arm around Amily. "Don't talk like that. Ghaada is important but we won't let them hurt you to get her back."

"It's the quickest way."

"The quickest way isn't always the best."

“But Marta loves me, she won’t hurt me. She just wants me back.” Natasha couldn’t help but doubt that, but maybe she shouldn’t. After all, Natasha was a child of the Red Room too. If she said that Marta couldn’t love, surely she was saying the same thing about herself? 

"We'll find another way," Wanda said. Natasha looked up to find her watching them with an indulgent smile on her lips. "You will find that there's always another way. We'll get her out safely."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "Ghaada wouldn't want you to hurt yourself for her."

Natasha wasn't sure how true that was. Ghaada was likely terrified and in the hands of someone she didn't even know. She'd probably give a lot to be home right now, but she understood what Bruce was trying to do. Anything to stop Amily carrying on with this line of thought. They weren't going to sent her back. They couldn't.

“Alright,” Steve said. “She specifies a meet time at fifteen hundred hours tomorrow. You have until they to be ready. Sam, Natasha, meeting room with me. We need a plan.” 

9.  
_  
Natasha lay on the bed, eyes to the ceiling. She knew she should be sleeping. Her body needed time to recover, but every time she closed her eyes she dreamt of the daughter she would never have._

_She lay with her hand on her stomach. Her barren stomach. The place that would never be a problem anymore. She could do her duty. Anything the Red Room asked of her, she would do. There would never be any chance of her loving anything more than the Red Room as she could never have a family. Who'd want a girl who can't have children?_

_It would have been nice, to be a mother. She liked the thought in an abstract way. She'd have taught her children so much. Made them strong. She could have been a brilliant mother. They would have loved her._

_Nothing now. No more love._

_It didn't occur to her, lying there in the dark, that what the Red Room had told her might be wrong. That there might still be love in her. She was too worn down. Had seen too many dried up old people without love in their hearts. She knew only that she was destined to be one of them, now. No escape. She'd work for the Red Room until she died. First as an operative then a teacher. She'd have no children, only students. Students you broke and re-made into your own image._

_But she'd have been a good mother._

***

"Bruce," she said. "Where's Amily?"

"I thought she was with you," Bruce said, looking up from the mission plan he'd been reading. It was nearly midday and they were going to be moving out soon. She hoped it would be enough. She wanted to go now. Wanted to sweep in and take Ghaada, but they’d managed to get eyes on the scene who reported that the house wasn’t currently occupied so she needed to wait for Marta to come to them. She’d never been good at waiting. 

"She said she was coming back here," Natasha said, panic building. "We were training and then Steve needed to talk and she knows the way so I let her go. I didn't think..."

"Hey, calm down," Bruce said, putting the paperwork down. "She'll have been distracted. Wanda will have her or..."

"Or she's gone," Clint said from the door. They both whipped around to look at him. "Just reviewed some footage and saw her driving out of here. Damndest thing, little girl like that driving a car, but she was. There's good odds on her getting pulled up before she gets out of the city."

"She'll just disable them and carry on," Natasha said. That's what she'd have done at that age. "I'm going after her."

"We," Bruce said, stepping forward and taking her arm.

"Bruce."

"Look," Clint said, stepping into the room so the door shut. "We need to move. I'll send a mobilisation code to the Avengers but we need to be on the road now."

"It's better if I go alone."

"It's better if you have backup," Bruce said, calmly. "I know you can do this alone, Natasha. You've proven that. But it's easier with backup. We don't want any casualties, Ghaada or Amily. We want to walk away at the end of this with both of them. So we go in together. Unless it's a code green, I get them out, Clint gives you backup, you take on Marta."

Natasha nodded. It wasn't the most elegant plan but she was done planning. They did have the best chance of success if they went in together.

"Fine," she said. "Thank you. This is my mess, but thank you."

"It's not your mess," Bruce said, putting his arm around you. "The Red Room made you, not the other way round. Their mess isn't yours to fix. Which isn't to say we're not going to take Amily home, because we are, but it's not your problem."

Natasha nodded, not sure what to say to any of that. She wasn't sure he was right. She could so easily be what Marta is now. Had believed for years that she would be. That she could never love like a mother should.

She hadn't missed the fact that Bruce seemed to have noticed her adopting Amily either, but she'd expected him to pick up on that. He was a smart guy.

"Alright," she said. "Let's get out of here."

10.  
_  
The first night outside the Red Room, Natasha didn't know what to do. She was in S.H.I.E.L.D. now, which seemed to be just a different kind of cage. The guy who'd brought her in was friendly enough but everyone else seemed to be watching her like she might explode at any second. She couldn't say they were wrong._

_As there was no chance of sleep, she paced. She wondered how long it would take for a Red Room operative to find her. They'd know by now that she'd left of her own free will. It would be obvious. The lack of dead bodies would give her away. They'd be coming to kill, not to reclaim. An agent who walked away was no use to anybody._

_She didn't want to die, but it was better than the alternative._

_She still wasn't sure why she'd let the archer bring her in. Why she'd come in at all. She just knew that her order was to burn the mark and his entire family but there'd been a little girl. A little red headed girl in a ballet outfit. She'd looked like Natasha might have, if anyone had ever loved her. There was a light behind her eyes that Natasha had never seen in herself._

_She hadn't wanted to kill the girl. Really hadn't wanted to. Drakov had been easy. The rest..._

_The archer had offered her an alternative. A way out and she'd taken it with both hands. She'd done a lot of evil but she hadn't been able to kill that little girl. Just one little girl and she hadn't had it in her._

_Her instructors at the Red Room would have been disgusted but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it meant they were wrong. Maybe it meant there really was more to her than what they'd made her. Not much, just a few scraps, but something. Something she could rebuild on._

_Maybe she could be something other than a monster._

***

The address was within an hour drive of Avengers HQ. Probably intentionally. They passed a police cruiser on the way with two officers nursing their injuries. They both confirmed that they'd tried to stop a little girl driving and she'd beaten them. Beaten but not killed. Maybe there was hope.

They stopped some way from the building, Bruce and Clint slipping from the vehicle. The Avengers en masse were about fifteen minutes behind. Ghaada could be dead in fifteen minutes. Natasha wasn't scared for Amily in the same way, she was tough, but Ghaada's suffering had all been of a different kind. That day in the orphanage she'd stroked Ghaada’s face and told her she didn't have to hurt anymore and she'd meant it.

She still meant it. She'd do everything in her power to make it true.

Once she'd given them time to get into position, she drove on. The car Amily had taken was abandoned in the street. Natasha left her car running and ran inside, throwing the door open.

Her worst fear, the one that had played over and over in her head as she drove here, was of opening the door and finding the house empty. Or opening it to Ghaada's body and nothing else. Her cold little body and all Natasha's broken promises.

She burst into a different scene and felt hope come back into her. Ghaada was there, arms tied and face bruised, but standing. Amily was there too, kneeling on the floor with her head bowed. And Marta was there, paused mid strike.

Marta smiled like she'd won.

"Ah," she said, softly. "I should have known. You never were as good as me."

There was a flicker of movement by a screen door at the back of the room, probably Bruce. Natasha wanted to signal for Ghaada to run that way but there was no way to do it without being seen.

"Don't you remember, they always said you were like me but not quite as good. I always knew why. It's your heart, Natasha. It's soft. They rushed you into graduation to try to cure it but it seems like it'll never be cured."

"Give me my daughter," she said. A plural lingered at the back of her throat. 

"You think I've done this to get Amily back? You're wrong. She's damaged now, you've ruined her so I'm going to give you a choice."

She reached down, grabbed a handful of Amily's hair and had a knife at the girl's throat in the time it took Natasha to retrieve her knife. Ghaada was sobbing now, folded down on the carpet next to Marta.

"It's a simple choice. You can walk out with one girl, Natasha. You can either save your daughter, the pity case. The one you found in an orphanage and never really loved. Never really wanted. Or you can save mine. The child like you. Which one, Natasha. You have ten seconds or I choose to kill both."

Her eyes went to Ghaada. Little Ghaada, curled up in a ball. There was despair in her posture, like she believed what Marta was saying. And Natasha's heart broke because she loved her. Loved Ghaada but had always struggled to show it and wasn't this why? This fear that somehow she was broken. Broken like Marta was. That she couldn't love.

Had she really been holding herself back for so long because she was afraid? What a fool she'd been.

And then Amily. Amily who didn't let her hide. Who forced her to love where Ghaada just waited for her. She owed her so much and the child was stood there just waiting to die.

There was no choice. She couldn't choose.

She rushed forward instead. Marta's hand moved but before she could strike an arrow flew through the cracked open back door and hit Marta’s shoulder, causing her to drop the child and the knife.

"Go," Natasha shouted, grabbing Amily's shoulder. "Take Ghaada and go."

She didn't look to see if she was obeyed but threw herself at Marta. It had been years since she fought a Red Room girl but you didn't lose the knack. The thing was to always presume they were going to be better than you. Natasha had been put into situations like the one Marta had created between Amily and the blond girl back at the start of all this. She'd been forced to kill or be killed and she knew the way.

Marta cut her, punched her, almost took her as they wrestled on the floor but Natasha had one thing Marta hadn't anticipated. 

The Avengers arrived right on cue, bursting into the room in all their glory. Natasha threw Marta back right into Steve's arms and in the confusion they spun her to Wanda who sent her to sleep with one touch of a finger.

As soon as Natasha caught her breath, she turned and ran out into the back garden. Out to where Bruce was sitting on the lawn, Ghaada in his arms. She was sobbing and clinging to him and Amily was there watching with a strange look of detachment and they were safe. They were all safe.

She stumbled forward. She stopped first to catch Amily in her arms, who looked surprised, then forward to Ghaada and Bruce. She caught them all in her embrace and hot tears of relief ran down her cheeks.

"You're okay," she said, pressing kisses wherever she could reach. "You're all okay and I love you all."

There was a second of stillness, then two sets of tiny arms wrapping around her. Ghaada, still wailing, pressed into her shoulder and Amily latched onto her waist, not crying yet but there were signs she'd start any second. She held them both as tightly as she could, pressing them into her. They were hers, both of them. She was their mother and the Red Room had been wrong, so wrong.

It wasn't that she didn't feel. It never had been. It was that she felt everything. And right now, she felt hope.

11.

The house was bustling, never meant to hold this many people. Natasha hadn't realised when she and Bruce picked it out quite how big their housewarming was going to be. She'd been thinking about things like the commute to Avengers HQ and if there'd be somewhere near for Bruce to be useful or schools for the kids. She hadn't thought about this.

All the Avengers were here, crammed into her little dining room. And Clint's family too. It had been a surprise to her when she saw them again just how much she'd missed them and, honestly, how much they'd missed her.

Bruce was in the kitchen, hiding out where it was safe with Tony and Jane, talking science. He'd missed that, it was obvious. She'd suspected that, as engaging as the work was where they'd been, it didn't quite stretch his brain to the limits. She thought it was likely that it'd only be a matter of time before they were talking him into some kind of collaboration. That would be great, so long as Steve kept his promise that there's be no more code greens.

She might be ready to go back in the field, that didn't mean Bruce was. Someone had to stay home to look after the kids, after all.

The women were gathered in the sitting room, watching the kids out through the open patio door. She stopped for a second on her way through to exchange a few words with Laura, pregnant again. There was still a little jealousy when Natasha looked at her, but it was a lot more muted than it used to be.

The children were in the yard, running around screaming as they were prone to do. She felt a little sorry for the neighbours but not much. Not when she stepped out of the door and was immediately hit by Clint's daughter, running full tilt into her arms and screaming "Auntie Nat!".

A second later Amily joined her, then, more hesitantly, Ghaada. There was still some time to make up for, there, but she was doing her best. It was hard to love someone. It took a little act of bravery every day but she was getting better at it. She leant over to kiss Ghaada's cheek and the girl grinned at her before returning the gesture.

"Hey," Clint's son shouted, holding a ball in his hands. "Come on, we're playing."

With a laugh, the girls launched themselves forward, seeming to move as one body in their goal to show him just how much they were playing. Natasha smiled as they went. Her daughters. Different in unexpected ways but she loved them both so much. 

"Hey," Bruce said, coming to stand beside her.

"You escape the kitchen of science?"

"Figured I'd better or Tony'll have me on payroll before we even fire up the grill. You alright? This isn't too much?"

"No," she said, leaning back into his embrace. "This is just right."


End file.
